


In which Gansey knows nothing about cars

by Previously8



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bisexual Adam, Fluff, M/M, Mechanics, Oblivious scaredy cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Previously8/pseuds/Previously8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...and Ronan would rather stare at the hot neighbour.</p><p>(now with 5000 extra words of AU goodness)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Gansey knows nothing about cars

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, this is an AU but it's not really defined-- the only major differences are in the lack of ronan magic and cabeswater, and of course the fact that Gansey, Ronan and Adam never met. 
> 
> don't be fooled because I know jack shit about cars sorry maggie
> 
> UPDATE: if you've read the first part before, do read it again because there have been slight changes! If you catch any errors in the fic please tell me because it's un-beta'd.

Adam Parrish just wanted to sleep.

Unfortunately, that was impossible. Not when someone had apparently decided that the best time to go to work, the day after the solstice, was seven in the morning.

Seven in the morning.

It was inexcusable, really.

The best part of the whole situation, if you asked Adam, was the fact that they couldn't get their bloody car started. If it had been a one time thing-- _oh no, the ignition didn't catch, let's try again, oh look it worked!_ \-- Adam would have no problem falling back asleep. As it were, however, the person had been continuously trying and failing to get their car started for the past fifteen minutes.

He glanced over at the bed across from his own. It was empty. Blue must have fallen asleep downstairs. Adam was lucky enough to have managed the climb up the flights of stairs even with the amount of mulled wine he'd consumed. Bless having a good tolerance.

The grating sound from _directly below his window_ continued.

If Blue were there, all 5-feet of her would be outside and growling at their neighbours. She wasn't, though, which meant that Adam was likely going to have to do something himself. He pulled his pillow over his head and groaned. Waking up early was not his forte. Nor was being assertive.

Cars were, though.

Gods damn it all.

Reluctantly, he stepped out of his warm cocoon of softness and hand-knit blankets to pull on a T-Shirt, before clambering down the stairs. He nearly tripped over one of Blue's relatives, a small child named Teagan, who was sleeping on the bottom step. The solstice celebrations in a large house of psychics and witches were a relatively big deal, even if Adam didn't actively participate, and it left the whole household mellowed-out and sleeping all over the place.

Blinking a few times and rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't a complete mess in the mirror of the front hall (nothing to be done about his hair), he shoved on shoes and left the house. He shivered in the winter breeze, glad for the lack of snow.

His neighbour was still trying, and failing, to start his car.

Aside, the mechanic in Adam sighed at the sight, partly in exasperation, but mostly in awe. The man's car was a '73 Camaro, in an orange so bright that was almost difficult to look at. A beautiful car-- and apparently a beautiful piece of shit if the sounds were anything to go by. If Adam were anything more than he was, he'd adore having a car like that. As it was, his own "car" was nowhere near as gorgeous.

The man himself, a short and sturdy type wearing a teal polo and a cardigan was sitting inside his car and twisting the key. He lived alone in the large house, Blue had informed him, and was as pretentious as anyone who had a senator for a father would be. Another man, taller and bored, was standing outside the car with crossed arms.

Yawning, Adam approached with slow feet, a memory of what it was to go against kids with more than him back in high school holding him back. He was far from the person he'd been in those days. It was easy to remind himself of the bigger changes, now, the day he moved out of that trailer and out of that town, but the smaller ones stuck with him. Muscle memory, Blue had claimed knowledgeably from across the dining room table, once, "all that ingrained flinching with nowhere to go". Someday, he wouldn't flinch anymore nor would he drag his feet.

Clearing his throat of the remnants of sleep, he called out to the men, "hey, do you need help?"

Both men looked up. Adam's neighbour stepped gracefully out of his piece-of-crap car.

He smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. "If you have help, that'd be great." He sighed softly in something like self-deprecation. "Unfortunately I don't know much about cars, not even my own."

The other man scoffed wordlessly. Adam glanced at him and was met with the clearest blue eyes he'd ever seen. For a second, he couldn't look away. This man was far too stunning to be frowning so hard so early in the morning. His arms were crossed across his chest and he looked moderately pissed at the world.

It was unreasonably attractive.

"Richard Gansey III, but I go by Gansey," Adam's neighbour said, holding out a hand, and Adam looked quickly back to him. He definitely hadn't been wrong about the kind of people they were, then. No one but horrifically rich people had numbers in their names. Gansey looked to his friend, who didn't speak. "This is Ronan Lynch."

Adam shook Gansey's hand firmly. "Adam Parrish."

\---

"I'm Adam," said the man in the reindeer pyjama pants, shaking Gansey's hand. His hair was a mess, sticking out like he'd rolled out of bed and strolled outside without looking in a mirror. He also looked half hungover, squinting in the sun but not wincing. It was also possible he was just really good at handling the resultant headache. Ronan knew the feeling well.

The neighbour cleared his throat. "So what's wrong with your car?"

Gansey went on his usual spiel-- the gorgeous beauty that was his antique car was often stubborn and unwilling to cooperate, et cetera. Ronan took advantage of the time to study Adam.

Adam bit his lip, concentrating on Gansey's words as the latter listed past problems. His lips were chapped, his nails bitten, but his skin was a rich golden-brown from the sun, even in the dead of Winter. Freckles were spattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Where his large T-shirt fell slightly to the side, Ronan could see part of his shoulder and collarbone, freckles spread there too.

Ronan, the romantic he was, would not have minded seeing exactly how far those freckles went.

Gansey walked Adam around the Pig. Ronan trailed listlessly afterwards. No one but Gansey loved the Pig, but Adam was treating the piece of shit with a sense of undeserved respect.

They opened the hood. Adam was asking questions now, professional and to the point, though he yawned through some. Gansey answered as best he could. Part of Ronan loved seeing his friend flounder at the questions he didn't have anything more than a politician-type answer for.

("When did you last change the oil?" Adam asked, touching something inside the open hood.

Gansey cleared his throat slightly, "well, that's hard to say. You see, I know I have in the past, but off the top of my head I couldn't give you the precise date...")

Once, in the middle of Gansey's long-winded answer, Adam caught his eyes with his own. It was likely an accident, but the moment sent a jolt of something unnamable down Ronan's spine. He was left frozen for a second after Adam looked away to ask another question.

He really liked Adam's voice.

Adam's words were said with a hollow vowel that reminded Ronan of an accent he often heard growing up in the country. It was softer than a city voice, but if he had to guess, he'd say Adam had been living around city-folk for a few years in the very least. Something about the accent made Ronan miss home.

It was shocking to imagine that he'd miss home after all this time, really. What right did this neighbourly asshole have to bring him back to memories of the Barns?

Finally, it seemed they'd resolved the issue. Ronan was unclear on precisely what the problem or solution was, having been staring at Adam's arms instead of the work going on, but apparently it involved three hearty taps to something somewhere inside the engine. Adam closed the hood with a decisive thunk and stepped back.

"It should be fine now."

"We really appreciate your help, Adam," Gansey said, pulling out his wallet from a back pocket.

Adam frowned. "I don't need your money." He seemed to realise, when Gansey froze, that it had seemed rude. He tried for a half-smile. "Think of it as a present from the neighbours."

Gansey seemed to accept this. He shook Adam's hand in both of his, thanking him once again for his help. Adam shuffled back off, yawning once more. Ronan watched him go and resolved to stay over at Gansey's place more often, if just to see his neighbour.

Ronan hated his friend, just a little bit, for the look Gansey gave him as they settled into the Pig. It was really all too knowing.

\---

Adam was going to sleep. As soon as possible.

Well, if he could get Gansey's friend's eyes out of his head, that was.

He'd spent the whole half hour acutely aware of the man's eyes on him. Even as he walked away, the man's gaze was heavy on his back. He wanted to turn back to check but didn't dare.

Even more worrying: How long had it been since he'd bothered to notice someone's gaze? His life was only finally calming down. He knew better than to get involved-- even if his old rules (keep your head down, stupid, don't let them ask questions) didn't exist anymore, he couldn't just go ditch all his principles. Really, wasn't it better for everyone if he did his best to ignore the man and his stunning, shattering eyes?

This was going to go badly, he just knew it.

As he stumbled back into the house, he almost stepped on Blue. She was sitting on the second last step (Teagan was nowhere to be seen), nursing a mug of fruity-smelling tea.

"Calla says that she's never seen that man before, but that she'd like to see more of him," Blue informed him with A Look. "And my mother says that you should have fun but remember to be careful."

Downside of living with a bunch of psychics and witches: they always knew everything that was going on. It had been worse and much more embarrassing during the three months that he and Blue had been dating, but even now, he did wish for a moment of privacy on occasion.

"I'm always careful," Adam said. "Also, can I get some of the...?" He made a vague motion to the mug in her hands, which he now realised had "world's worst psychic" proudly written on the front.

Upside: hangover cures that worked.

Apparently the household had woken up while he was outside. Maura Sargent, the most relaxed militant mom you'd ever meet, was in the kitchen, stirring away at something that smelled suspiciously like strawberries but was steaming and electric blue. She smiled as Adam came in and gestured with the hand not holding the wooden spoon to a pot of tea-- or something-- on the counter. He'd learned not to ask after a while.

Persephone was perched at the breakfast bar, looking ethereal and suspiciously not-hungover. He poured himself a cup of the hopefully-legitimate cure. Sometimes, tea was just tea, he'd learned as much in the few years since he moved in.

As he moved to leave the kitchen, Persephone spoke.

"We care about you very much..." Her voice was as melodious as ever. "But things are easily regretted."

Psychic warnings weren't always the easiest to understand, but Adam was pretty sure he knew what Persephone was referencing this time.

Which brought him back to thinking about the man's eyes. And his arms. And his heavy gaze. Damn, he was completely screwed. There was no way he was going to manage to finish his paper if he stayed this distracted. It was a good thing he was so good at putting things out of his mind.

Blue was still sitting on the steps when he returned. She cocked her head at him slightly. He shrugged.

"You know what?" She asked.

"What?"

She slurped her drink and frowned up at him. "You should go to sleep."

Adam huffed out an almost-laugh. As if he hadn't been trying to do that since before his rude awakening. Blue smiled slightly at him.

"I'll save some of the tea for you," she promised, standing up and patting his arm.

"Thanks."

And finally, finally, he was going to get to rest. His bed seemed more appealing now than it had the previous night, if that was possible. At least at the time he'd expected to sleep for a solid eight hours. With the lucky interruption, he'd only gotten four.

He wasn't someone who usually slept in, really. Growing up, it had been a 5:30 wake-up call every morning to get to school or to work. Before he'd moved in with the Sargent family two years ago, he'd still kept himself to a strict schedule. His therapist at the time said it would help him get used to living a life away from his parents. With the Sargents, he still had university, now, and his job as a mechanic to be ready for.

Staying up until 3 o'clock serving as a glorified delivery-boy to actual psychics was enough to tire him out, it seemed.

He collapsed on his bed, grateful for the closed blinds. He didn't have to be a productive member of society right then.

( _Although you really should get started on that history paper due next Tuesday_ , part of him was saying. _Or you could try remembering what Gansey's friend's name was_ , another part said.

 _Shush,_ he said.)

And all at once, he fell asleep.

\---

"You know," Gansey said smugly, once they were on the highway, "you didn't stop staring at him the whole time."

Ronan, who had been woken up far too early to deal with his pretentious friend's Welsh king fetish, just grunted.

It wasn't even eight in the morning. He hadn't even had coffee or one of Gansey's ridiculous health teas yet. He refused, on that basis, to act as though he were a reasonable human being. Not that he pretended to be one most of the time, anyway, but if he had had something to drink he might have been able to scrounge up something that wasn't irate Gaelic swearing.

When Gansey had asked him over the previous evening, he had expected Welsh kings. What else could it possibly be, when Richard Gansey the fucking third called from his big empty house in the old city suburbs saying "I've had a breakthrough, Ronan, you won't believe it". However, he had not been expecting an early wake-up call.

Nor had he been expecting Gansey's neighbour to look quite that beautiful. That man, Adam, would surely be on his mind the rest of the day. How was any of this fair, _at all_?

For one thing he could be glad: Gansey already knew exactly how 100% fucking queer Ronan was. (Not that it had been an easy revelation on either end-- it was probably the only time since sophomore year that they willingly spent apart for more than a few days. Ronan still hates to think about those three weeks, and Gansey still feels guilty for some of the things he had said, but they don't talk about it.)

Gansey kept shooting him inquisitive side-glances as he drove. Ronan refused to answer any of them with a verbal response. He turned on the radio.

His friend sighed and gave up, for a while. Ronan was sure that there'd be questions and gentle pushes later when he wasn't so focused on his kings. As it was, he lowered the volume and began to talk about his most recent discovery: ley lines.

"Apparently," he said, taking on the tone of voice that meant he beginning a very important lecture, "ley lines are paths of pure energy from one place of significance to another. Judging by some studies done by colleagues of mine, I believe that--"

And he was off again. Ronan didn't fully tune him out, he never did, but he watched the countryside fly by as he listened. Gansey's speeches were more likely used to sort out information for himself rather than to inform Ronan, anyway. Ronan was a sounding board, someone to rant at when three AM came along and the rest of his friends were asleep.

Ronan really hoped that someday, Gansey found someone who cared about celtic mythology as much as he did. Or at least that would tell him to shut up.

Gansey managed to keep up a steady stream of conversation all the way to wherever the fuck they were going. To Ronan, it looked like a Very Normal Forest. To Gansey, it seemed this was a forest deserving of a marriage proposal.

And he had criticized _Ronan_ 's taste. Honestly.

Gansey was out of the car the moment the parking brake was in effect, taking pictures and making notes in his old leather journal. He shot Ronan, who was still inside the car, a grin. If Ronan were sentimental and not a jackass, he might have smiled back fondly. Instead, he turned the volume up louder on his tape and gave Gansey the middle finger. Gansey shook his head and was off ogling the forest ground again.

Sometimes, Ronan still caught himself wondering how they'd become friends.

(He knew the answer, though, just as he always did. There were only so many lonely people who would save your life and expect nothing in return in the world, and halfway through sophomore year, Ronan had stumbled across one. They'd been inseparable ever since.)

"So," Gansey said, driving Ronan back to the Barns after an hour and a half of note- and picture-taking.

"So what?" Ronan knew where this was going and it couldn't be helped how disgruntled he felt.

"So I ought to let the Pig break down more often while you're staying over?"

Ronan resisted rolling his eyes like a teenager, but it was a close thing. Instead, he scoffed, "the Pig is a shitty excuse for a car even when you aren't trying."

"But the real question is whether you would object to having my neighbour over again." Gansey's voice was even but Ronan pretend he couldn't see the asshole's smile.

He didn't deign to answer the question. Despite how incredible the man had looked, there was next to no chance it would continue further and Gansey ought to know that. For one, the man probably wasn't attracted to other men. Even if he were, there were so many better people than Ronan Lynch, with his myriad of problems in the form of family. A man who helped his neighbours out at seven in the morning was one who deserved a better boyfriend than Ronan could be.

"It's not going to happen, Gansey," Ronan told him, finally.

He studiously didn't notice the pitying glance that was sent his way.

\---

Adam didn't see or hear of the man for a week after the solstice.

That week was enough for him to remember the man's name, at least-- Ronan Lynch, Gansey had said. Not that Adam had been thinking about him a lot. Really. Only a few times a day did he recall the way Ronan had slouched against the car or the precise shade that his eyes were.

He saw Gansey a few times, looking as clean cut as ever on his way to whatever he did for work. The man had even waved once, and Adam had smiled back, but that was the extent of their interaction. He had only been tempted once to ask when Ronan would be back, and even then had stopped himself in time.

Blue teased him incessantly. Though she hadn't seen Ronan for herself, every time Adam looked distracted she assumed he was thinking about her neighbour's friend and pointed it out loudly. (The worst part was she wasn't even always wrong.)

And so it followed until the next Sunday.

That particular night was a night that Adam really ought to have been asleep: he had a shift the next day from noon until late, but was planning to work on his paper before going to work. Due to many things, mainly a really shitty childhood, late nights were pretty common.

It was one-oh-four, or so the stove claimed. Adam was making himself a cinnamon hot chocolate from a package Maura had pressed into his hands earlier that day. It was quiet, except for the ticking of the clock in the main hall and the buzz of the kitchen light.

At first, he didn't hear the sound. Probably a result of being deaf in one ear, but some sounds, especially on his deaf side, weren't immediately distinguishable. As it rumbled to a stop, however, Adam recognized it: the purring of a car motor. It had stopped just outside.

Looking carefully through the curtains, it took a minute to spot the car: a glossy charcoal grey BMW, so low to the ground and parked so near the tree that it looked like a shadow. It was a probably a credit to Adam that he didn't automatically connect the car to Ronan upon seeing it. Not many people on this street were the sort to own a car like that. In fact, Adam was almost certain that no one who lived on this street owned a BMW except the elderly couple four houses over.

In any case, it was Ronan is his tall, pale glory that stepped out of the car and marched up the driveway to knock on Gansey's door. Nothing happened for a minute-- understandable, it was after one in the morning-- but then a light switched on upstairs.

Ronan paced on the porch, waiting for his friend. When he finally did arrive, Adam's only clue was the sudden pause in Ronan's pacing and the light on the lawn. He couldn't see Gansey from the angle of the open window.

There was some muffled speaking that Adam couldn't catch, then, "...Ronan? What..."

"Kavinsky's... I can't go..." Ronan's voice was louder, but not clear enough to catch all the words. Adam was pretty sure some of them weren't in English, anyway.

Adam felt guilty to be listening through the open kitchen window, like he was spying or intruding on their privacy. He backed away and went to grab marshmallows from the cupboard for his hot chocolate.

"--he's my _fucking_ brother, Gansey. Don't you _dare_...!"

"Ronan!"

" _Fuck your_ \--"

" _Keep your voice down_!"

Adam dropped the bag of marshmallows in shock at the loud noise. Evidently, whatever had brought Ronan back to Gansey's place was personal and not at all happy. Adam picked up the bag of multi-coloured marshmallows and closed the window. He didn't want to hear any more.

Five minutes later, the porch light of Gansey's house turned off and the door closed. Adam sipped the last of his hot chocolate and put his mug in the sink. He wasn't entirely sure if he could get to sleep, but it was worth trying, at least. He'd analyze what he'd heard of the conversation in the morning.

It felt like a mere half hour later, he was being poked into wakefulness.

Blue was standing over him, frowning slightly. "Mom wants you to run an errand," she explained at his sleepily-inquisitive glance.

"What?" Adam's mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

"Mom needs you to get up and run an errand for her. Apparently it involves cookies," Blue informed him.

The promise of Maura's cookies was what got through to him. Within a few minutes, he was dressed, had combed his hair, and was on his way down to the kitchen. Maura was sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of fresh-baked (if the smell was anything to go by) cookies in front of her.

She looked up as Adam and Blue came into the room. "Feel free to have a snickerdoodle, Adam, but the rest are being brought to our next-door neighbours."

Adam didn't even manage a "wait, what?" before he was shoved out the door, cookies in hand, Blue at his side.

She sighed at him, but grinned.

\---

Ronan wasn't going to complain, this morning. No, really, he wasn't going to complain.

Not even when some asshole deemed it appropriate to ring the doorbell at eight in the morning when he still owed Gansey time sleeping. When it rang, Gansey just waved him off sleepily-- which meant that, of course, Ronan was left to deal with the idiot.

He would never admit to nearly falling down as he tried to navigate the stairs.

He may have been expecting many things when he opened the door-- a door-to-door salesperson, a college kid, or someone who wanted to mow Gansey's lawn were all possibilities. Disappointed he was not, however, when he opened the door to a tiny woman offering him cookies.

And Adam. Adam was there too. (It was likely worth noting, at least on Ronan's part, that Adam was dressed this time in something other than pyjamas and still looked just as good. Damn.)

Ronan, for his part, only remembered then that he wasn't wearing a shirt, just an old pair of sweatpants. _May as well put on a show_ , he thought, even as he felt the flush high on his cheekbones. Of all the people to show up...

The short woman had flyaway hair-- was that an honest to God hairclip?-- and was wearing what could likely be considered a disaster of fashion. Ronan wasn't sure he'd ever seen someone wearing something _that_ orange. She stared at him, unimpressed. "My mom said you needed cookies."

There was nothing Ronan had to say to that except, "what the _fuck_?"

Ronan glanced up from the butterfly-shaped plate of cookies just in time to see Adam's lips twitch into a smile. Oh, and what beautiful lips they were. They looked very pink and far too kissable.

She shoved the cookies at him. "I live next door at number 300 with my mom. She baked some cookies for you and your friend."

"You can take them, you know. Blue's mom is a really good baker." Adam's voice was better than Ronan had imagined. He took the plate.

"Thanks, I guess?"

"It's a miracle," Gansey said, suddenly next to Ronan, "you actually got him to thank you for something. We'll have to meet with you more often-- Ronan's manners need some work." He sounded like he was giving a valuable lesson on a vital subject. Ronan hated that voice. Gansey sounded like he was 80, not 20.

Luckily, it seemed that the woman, Blue, wasn't impressed either, though her cheeks had a redder tinge than before, which Ronan was definitely not going to use against his friend later (especially not since Gansey's cheeks were just as pink). Finally, payback.

Now, the four of them were at a standstill. Ronan couldn't help but wish for Noah: Conversations always seemed to flow much more easily with that kid around. However, Noah was across the country doing who-knows-what and couldn't help them just then.

"It's good to see you again, Adam," Gansey said, finally. "Thanks again for fixing the Pig."

"The Pig?" Blue asked.

Gansey switched his focus back to her and Ronan watched as his ears turned red. "It's what we call my car."

"It was no problem, really," Adam told Gansey. Ronan could listen to him talk all day. "If you ever need anything else for your car, feel free to come into the shop where I work." Adam pulled out a business card from a pocket in his jeans, handing it to Gansey. He caught Ronan's eyes for a moment and Ronan wondered if the invitation was also directed to him.

The skin on Adam's hands looked dry, his nails as bitten down as they had the previous week. Ronan watched them disappear back into the pockets of his winter coat and wondered what his hands would feel like on his skin. He shivered, only partly from the cool morning air.

Gansey scanned the card. "Thank you."

"Hope you like the snickerdoodles," Blue said then, and it sounded like a threat. "They're for both of you."

Ronan watched Gansey almost-stutter a thank you very much.

After the requisite byes and thank yous, Adam and Blue headed back down the driveway and turned toward their house. Gansey shut the door, swallowing a bite of a cookie. "I think," he said. "That we should enjoy these cookies while they last."

He wasn't wrong-- the last time they'd tried baking, either of them, had ended with a distinct scorch mark on the ceiling as well as flour in every orifice. Ronan wasn't sure the taste of burnt chocolate chips, ashy but somehow still sweet, would ever leave his memory. Gansey had learned to appreciate the baked goods he received.

The snickerdoodles were heavenly (but Ronan's mind was stuck on Adam).

\---

A shirtless Ronan was far too much for any one bisexual man to handle, it seemed.

Adam had expected Gansey to open the door, it being his house and all, but Ronan had been standing there, leaning on the doorframe and wearing only dark sweatpants riding low on his hips. It felt almost indecent to see that much of his stomach and the V of his hips. Adam had been very careful not to let his eyes linger too long though he could have stared all day.

Best, or maybe worst part: Ronan had a tattoo. Adam hadn't seen much of the ink, which only just barely curved up the back of his neck, but it was thrilling. He really, really wanted to see Ronan shirtless again.

And maybe take pictures this time. Fuck was he beautiful.

Only Maura and Blue's identical knowing looks tore him away from suddenly very vivid fantasies.

He couldn't say he didn't watch, in the next few weeks, as Gansey came and went and as Ronan did too. It felt like a constant stream of cars in and out of the driveway next door. Some mornings, Gansey's would be gone before he woke up and others, the BMW, shiny as ever would appear sometime during the night and not leave until late that night. He didn't see much of either of the two men (it felt almost strange how little he knew about them, at this point).

That was likely why he was so surprised, three weeks later, when Ronan came knocking on the door of 300 Fox Way.

Adam listened from his room upstairs as Calla answered the door.

"Is Adam here?" Adam froze, his heart beating faster in his chest than he was sure was safe. Blue met his eyes from across the room, freezing too. Slowly, her eyebrows raised and she grinned.

"I'm not sure," Calla said gleefully, then called. "Adam?"

"Just a minute!" Blue answered before Adam could unfreeze. She stepped closer and hissed to him, "if you don't get his number I swear I will get it for you just so you stop getting that lovestruck look on your face."

He escaped Blue's wrath to save Ronan from expert psychic interrogation. Calla wasn't bad, but if he left Ronan waiting too long, Maura would get involved. He wouldn't willingly sentence anyone to that fate.

Ronan looked relieved when he finally appeared-- although it wasn't the first thing Adam noticed. No, the first thing was the blue-and-purple-turning-yellow bruise on his jaw. It must have shown on his face because Ronan tilted his head away, trying to hide it. Something about it reminded Adam too much of bruises covered with his mother's drugstore makeup-- ugly and spreading and shameful.

And other things he'd rather not think about.

"Hey, Ronan," Adam said, and forced himself to breathe evenly as Ronan's eyes met his.

"Hey," his voice was possible perfection, "do you have another copy of the business card you gave Gansey? My car's fu-- messed up."

"Um, yeah," not that he had any idea where they were, currently, "if you want to step in for a minute, I can go grab one."

He shrugged, and even that movement was graceful. He waited just inside the door, closing it behind him. When Adam returned with a proper business card (why had he decided to put them in the pocket of the previous week's work uniform? Why had that seemed like a good idea?), he was still waiting, looking slightly tense, but that was likely just the way Calla was looking at him. Adam had told Blue once that Calla seemed very predatory, but she had just laughed it off.

Just as he was stepping out the door, Persephone drifted into the room.

"Your friend's quest isn't in vain," she informed the room. He froze momentarily but didn't respond, shutting the door behind him.

"Persephone," Maura scolded, wiping her hands on her apron. "Don't shock people like that."

"I didn't realise that was shocking. He already knew," Persephone said mildly.

Adam backed away from where they'd said goodbye, hoping to avoid the argument. There wasn't much you could do when any of them got to arguing except wait for it to blow over. He closed the bedroom door on Maura's explosion, "but he didn't _need_ to hear it confirmed! That's--"

He sighed. Blue sighed back.

"So did you get his number?"

Adam flopped back on his bed and didn't answer. he could practically feel Blue's unimpressed glare.

"You're doing the pining thing," she told him. "It's the one where you don't say anything and neither does he and you miss a chance."

The worst part was that Blue wasn't exactly wrong.

He thought on it the rest of the day and, the next morning, when he finally decided to do something, Ronan showed up unannounced in his beautiful car at the workshop.

\---

Ronan Lynch would like to state, for the record, that his car was actually making strange noises and his brake was feeling slower than usual. He wasn't just there for the beautiful mechanic.

"You can head out, you know," Adam told him. "It's really not that interesting to watch."

Ronan shrugged and sat backward on the yellow plastic chair on the side. "I really don't have anything better to do." Adam huffed out an adorable laugh. "What?"

"Nothing." He sounded like he wanted to continue, though. Ronan waited. "It's just... I used to hate kids like you, who don't have to work a day in your lives even though you're spending several thousand a year on tuition. It felt so unfair to me." He sighed, and looked at Ronan. "I kind of pity you guys now."

There wasn't much Ronan could say to that: He _hadn't_ ever needed to work a day in his life. He owned the Barns now that Declan had fucked off to politics but it didn't take much to keep up the property, and a simple job just wouldn't cut it. He had spent his high school years thriving off of his parents' 30 000 a year for a luxurious boarding school where no one gave a shit, and most of "school" time had been spent street racing or drinking himself stupid.

If he had been anyone else, he would have felt he deserved the pity. As it was, he kind of just wished he'd attended more than just Latin and history classes during those four years.

"I'm a very bored person now, if that helps," he told Adam. This time, Adam actually did laugh. Ronan felt more than blessed for having had the chance to hear it. "But I can speak Latin."

Adam grinned. "I took a year of Spanish as a freshman. Wasn't really my thing." He tinkered for a few seconds before pausing and looking at Ronan again. "Wait, can you actually speak Latin?"

" _Arbores loqui latine_ ," Ronan said.

"What?" Adam looked baffled. Ronan may have smiled.

"It literally translates to 'the trees speak Latin'. Just a nonsense thing."

(He still remembered hours of nonsense jokes from the hospital at the end of junior year when Gansey couldn't stand seeing him so pale. Noah would laugh and tell stories of his sisters for hours, and sometimes both he and Gansey could even manage a smile.)

Adam shook his head and turned back to tapping and twisting inside the car. "I can't believe you can speak Latin. That's really ridiculous, you know." Ronan just shrugged. "Can you speak any other languages?"

"Gaelic," Ronan admitted grudgingly. At Adam's surprised and inquisitive glance, he elaborated, "my father's family moved here from Ireland and began a farm. When Dec-- When I got old enough to start learning, he was very into teaching us Irish culture: Gaelic, boxing, the whole fucking deal." Adam looked interested. Ronan wasn't sure how to react to that. His life story was objectively a mess, sure, but it wasn't an interesting mess. "What about you, then? Where'd you grow up?"

"Virginia countryside," Adam looked as though he was choosing his words carefully. "My parents and I lived in the outskirts of a town that had literally one grocery story and three gas stations. I left when I was 18, as soon as I was done with school."

"And moved in with Blue's family afterward?" Ronan couldn't help but be curious.

He thought about it for a second, "yeah, pretty much. I lived in a cheap apartment for a bit, before. I-- ha, I had actually just broken up with Blue when I moved in. We stayed friends and I got a room to sleep in."

Ronan couldn't imagine it. Apparently, he wasn't the only one with a mess for a history. Why was Adam so perfect?

"Tell me something about yourself," Adam mused after a beat of quiet where the only sounds were garage-sounds.

"Legally, I own fourteen cows."

When Ronan didn't elaborate, Adam asked. He refused to explain on the basis that it wasn't important and it was far less interesting than it sounded. "Tell me something about yourself, then."

"I lived in a church for half a year."

Ronan turned a skeptical frown on him. Adam just shrugged. "I go to church every weekend and it's the only time I see my brothers."

Adam deliberated for a moment before deciding on, "I got accepted to Yale." He looked pleased that Ronan was confused.

That just wouldn't do.

And on it went. The two of them one-upped each other until Adam was tearing up from laughing so hard at the anecdotes and Ronan was grinning so much he felt like the cheshire cat. Adam's boss poked his head in at one point to remind Adam that they had other customers, which shut them both up for a bit while Adam finished the last bit of meddling.

When he was done he stood up, stretched, and wiped his hands on the apron he was given to work in.

Ronan asked, "so how much does this cost me?"

"I'd like to say free, 'cause you were good company, but I earn a living here, so--" he rattled off the standard prices and waved away the generous tip that Ronan offered.

"Fine, if you won't take my tip, at least take this." Ronan held out a small jar. The cheeks were burning, he just knew it. This hadn't been a good idea. Adam took the container. "It's a cream. For your hands. They-- well, your hands were dry, and it's Winter so..." Ronan shut himself up with a click of his jaw.

Adam stood there, speechless for a second. Ronan tilted away on his heels, feeling painfully awkward. He usually didn't give gifts like this, but Adam's hands hand looked in sorry need and he'd had all that extra from the garden at the Barns...

"Thanks, Ronan," he said, tucking it into a pocket of his apron. Ronan shook his head but Adam interrupted the action, "no, seriously, thanks."

"Whatever," he grumbled. "You fixed my fucking car."

He got into his car, and was happy to hear a lack of worrying noises and to feel the easy slid of the brake pedal. He rolled down the window and waved bye. Adam thanked him again and Ronan pulled slowly away.

God, what an exhausting day. Adam's smile would be forever burned into his vision now; it was going to be amazing.

"Wait, Ronan!" Adam called out. Ronan braked, the car coming softly to a stop a few metres out of the garage.

Adam reached through the rolled-down window, pressed a piece of paper into Ronan's hands, and was gone with a smile.

Ronan opened up the small scrap of lined notebook paper. On it was a phone number, "text me" written underneath.

\---

Adam hadn't seen Ronan for two days. He hadn't even gotten a text from the man. Blue teased him relentlessly for keeping one hand on his phone at all times, but Adam honestly just felt a bit shitty. Had it not worked? He was pretty sure he hadn't been reading Ronan's glances wrong, and he knew exactly how interested he was in reciprocating.

Why hadn't he at least gotten a "hi it's ronan"?

That night, as he was about to put his phone away, it buzzed with an alert. He didn't want to check, but Blue was watching.

From: Unknown Number  
_hi it's ronan_  
_do you want to go for coffee sometime i know a place_  
_if you don't that's fine_

To: Ronan  
_I'd love to go for coffee :)_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review to tell me what you thought!
> 
> join me on tumblr everythingsdifferentupsidedown.tumblr.com


End file.
